


of a wandering mind

by peanutbrain



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbrain/pseuds/peanutbrain
Summary: Papa Emeritus III has a problem. A stomping, ghoul-shaped problem.Hilarity ensues.
Relationships: Aether Ghoul | Omega Ghoul/Papa Emeritus III
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	of a wandering mind

It was stupid, really. That entire situation.

They had met in the ghouls' shared hotel room for some last minute practice before they needed to head out for another one of their acoustic shows. Seated comfortably around the centre of the room, they did some warm-ups and gradually progressed into playing the songs.

Papa winced as he screwed up the lyrics to  _ Zombie Queen _ , the verse in question coming out a mumbled mess of vaguely joined syllables. Water, who was sitting next to him on the couch, shot him a questioning look. He just shrugged. It wasn't uncommon for him to forget the lyrics, but in that moment his mind wandered more than usual.

He blamed it all on Omega.

Sitting across from him, the ghoul seemed utterly lost in the music—head tilted slightly downwards, eyes closed. His nimble fingers glided gently over the strings of his guitar, rings flashing silver with reflected light. One of his legs was bouncing up and down, foot hitting the floor with loud, rhythmic thuds. It was endearing, really; that he'd break into his signature stomp even while sitting down.

That was also the core of the problem, because the constant movement drew Papa's attention to those long legs and muscular thighs. And that, in turn, made his thoughts wander to the things he could do if only he could kneel between them and… 

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze, feeling his face heat up under the layers of paint. It was no good, thinking about that. No good at all.

He gave up on singing, gesturing for the ghouls to continue without him as he reached for his water bottle, shifting awkwardly in his seat. He could feel the gentle burn of desire building up in his groin and he released his breath through his teeth. Honestly, it was embarrassing—how worked up he could get by just looking, just thinking about the ghoul. It was so very stupid. 

He chose to blame this (and the farce that followed) on not getting laid lately. Yep, must've been it.

Because when he looked up, he found himself transfixed once again by that damned stomping fool and his beautiful, powerful legs. He sucked in a breath, hand clenching unwittingly on his bottle.

“Stomp me like that,” he whined, before he even realised he was doing it.

His heart stuttered when Omega whipped his head up and looked straight at him; Papa had never seen his face without the mask, but he could imagine the ghoul frowning in confusion. 

“What?”

Papa felt panic surge through him like a bolt of lightning, and he shot up from the couch, startling his guitarists. His mind raced a mile a minute, desperately looking for an excuse. 

“I said, stop doing that!” he yelled, nervously carding his fingers through his hair. “You're a deaf musician, I swear to Satan. I can't focus with your fucking stomping!”

He didn't even look at the ghoul, just turned on his heel and marched out of the room, into the en-suite bathroom. He stood still for a moment, back pressed against the door and heart beating wildly in his chest as he looked at his spooked reflection in the mirror. 

Oh. Oh, dear Satan. What has he done?

He could hear the ghouls talking softly among themselves, but couldn't make out the words. Were they talking about him? Did the other two hear him?

Of course not, he tried to reassure himself, leaning on the sink. His words were much too quiet; and even if they weren't, he doubted they could be heard over the music and Omega's fucking stomping.

It was fine. It. Was. Fine.

Collecting himself as best he could, Emeritus flushed the unused toilet to cover up his panicked escape and washed his hands to make the theatrics more believable. Then he nodded to himself in the mirror and walked out, putting his gloves back on.

The ghouls were playing again,  _ Jigolo Har Megiddo _ this time, and it seemed like his outburst was already forgotten. He sighed in relief. Of course, then he actually looked up and locked eyes with Water, who was still seated on the couch, guitar resting lightly over their lap.

He couldn't see Water's face, but he was pretty sure they were smirking. There was a mischievous glint in their eyes as the ghoul raised one leg and tapped it gently on the floor in a mock attempt at stomping. Once. Twice. Then they looked away.

_ Fuck. _


End file.
